It’s one of those crisp winter mornings when the sun is playing a lazy game of hide-and-seek, sucking all the warmth out of the air and the color from the land when it disappears behind the clouds before it emerges once more to thaw the winter chill. There’s dew on the ground, causing it to shimmer when the sun casts its rays on it. The air smells of damp earth and burning wood. I cup the demitasse of Greek coffee in my mittened hands as I stand outside the door listening to the village rousing itself from sleep. It’s mid-January; I’ve been in Greece for almost a week. In travel agent jargon, this isn’t “low” season, it’s “no season” with most hotels and pensions closed, except for those in cities, the center of large towns, and ski resorts–and even there they’re mostly open just on weekends. Yet winter remains one of my favorite times for visiting Greece, even the islands.
Truth is, any time is my favorite time for visiting Greece. I fell in love with the country as a backpacking student and have since returned, every year, albeit at different times, squeezing in another visit between other vacations. I like to observe how the land changes with the seasons, how the Aegean changes from the cerulean of summer to Homer’s wine-dark sea in winter, how the Peloponnese’s mountains swap the coppery leaves of autumn for the fragrant green of spring. The ancients, of course, explained all this through the myth of Demeter, goddess of the harvest, and her daughter Persephone: winter covers the earth when Persephone lives with Hades in the underworld; spring reflects Demeter’s joy at her daughter’s imminent return; summer is when the two are reunited; and autumn is Demeter’s sadness that her daughter will return to Hades soon. I’m partial to this myth, preferring the simple concordance of a mother’s emotions at losing and finding a child to that of the Horae, who appear in mythology later as the seasons.
Over the years, I’ve come to realize this strange attraction I feel for Greece is the lure of the unexpected. Conventional wisdom would dictate an island holiday in summer, hiking in spring. But the islands have a special warmth in winter that emanates from their people and the mountains offer respite in summer from the heat. Luckily, in Greece, an incredible variety of landscapes is crammed into a small geographic area. So, yes, you can hit the ski slopes in the morning and spend the same afternoon on the beach.

Greece’s terrain is rough; its profile is carved in a series of massifs whose jagged edges plunge straight into the sea. These mountains seem magic, mystical for they’ve shaped Greek history, from mythology through modern times when their crevices and caves became staging grounds for independence from the Ottomans and for resistance against the Nazi occupiers.
But it’s not modern battles that occupy my thoughts as I explore Mount Parnassos’s slope below the town of Arahova. I’ve heard of a footpath that leads to the archaeological site: I’ve had too late a night to even contemplate making such a long trek–ten kilometers by road–but I find the mid-morning air wonderfully bracing. The view, too. Gazing at the Peloponnese coast on the opposite side of the Gulf of Corinth, it’s easy to see why the ancient Greeks thought Delphi the center of the Greek world: from this vantage point, all roads seem to lead here. Their methodology, of course, was more precise than mere impression even if it is only myth. Zeus, the primus inter pares of Mount Olympus’s residents, pinpointed the earth’s center using two eagles that he released in different directions to circle the earth. I’ve visited the archaeological site on several occasions–spring is my favorite time at the sanctuary–but this trip I’m more eager to explore Arahova and Parnassus, the mountain whose winged nymphs, the Thriae, taught Apollo how to see the future. Indeed, mythology entwines this mountain with Apollo, as its foothills is where he, as an infant, slayed the snake-monster Python that Hera had sent to kill Apollo’s mother Leto. Grown, the god lay near that very place with the nymph Coryceia, who bore him a son. Since antiquity, legend has it that the hawks swooping over its peaks are Daedalion. Apollo changed him into a hawk just as he plunged to his death, desperate at the death of his daughter–who had also lain with Apollo and borne him a son. Recalling the myth, I try to gauge the drop from the mountain’s summit.
Modern-day lore centers on Arahova rather than Delphi–and on winter weekends, the mountain resort does, in a manner of speaking, become the center of the Athens clubbers’ universe. Most of the year, the town’s narrow streets are jammed by tour buses and groups of camera-toting tourists for whom one of the biggest curiosities is a large black-and-white photograph of The Beatles propped up on the pavement outside Papastathis Sweets. The legendary group had made a brief stopover in Arahova during a Greek holiday in July 1967. The shop sits at the town’s edge, on the main street that snakes past the jumble of shops selling heads of formaella cheese, hilopittes (hand-cut noodles), tsipouro, chunky wool sweaters, rugs, embroidered throws, sheep bells, as well as skis, branded boots, neon-pink ski suits and the latest fashions for the slopes. On winter weekends, however, the streets are backed up with shiny SUVs and the sidewalks crammed with fashionable Greeks who’ve come for a few hours of ski and some long hours of apres ski–and are less impressed by The Beatles than they are horrified by their hippy garb.
Arahova’s swirling social scene has earned it a reputation as Greece’s answer to Gstaad, albeit less exclusive. Its lifestyle, a casual hedonism, can be appealing, if not exhausting. When I yearn for tranquility–and to truly feel closer to nature, not as a beautiful backdrop to human activity but as a part of it–my thoughts drift to Mount Pelion. Again, mythology incited my first visit but the splendid terrain draws me back to this wooded peninsula once populated by the Centaurs, creatures whose bodies were half equine and half human. At night, I like to lay on the beach and search the sky for the constellation Sagittarius; in mythology, it was believed to be the form of Cheiron, the sagest of the Centaurs, who gave up his immortality to secure the release of Prometheus but was later returned to the heavens in this form. I see in the Centaurs a symbol of the harmonious coexistence of humans and environment; its apt that they inhabited Pelion for this harmony is still evident here.
Indeed, Pelion’s charm is that simple. It’s developed, yet remains unspoilt. Its dramatic terrain isn’t beautiful in spite of the villages dotting its slopes and coast, but because of them. Tsangarada, Makrinitisa, Kissos, Milies, Zagora are all laid out in the same basic fashion–spokes of settlement leading off a central square paved with Pelion’s gray-green stone–yet are unique. Hydrangeas spilling over small courtyards, herbs set out to dry in the sun, all manner of bowers and gardens and orchards; my mouth waters at the memory of Zagora’s sweet, juicy apples. Pelion is a land savored, literally, for the herbs, and greens, and oranges, and peppers you spot on your strolls all end up in the pies and stews and spetzofai and spoon sweets that end up on your table at a homey taverna, amid a sweet-smelling garden in summer and by a warming fire when the weather cools.

The Ionian is a different sea. It has a different color and feels lighter. more buoyant. It is a different landscape from the Aegean.
Unlike the Cyclades which float in the middle of a sea, the Ionian islands hug the coast of western Greece or, like Lefkada, are almost attached to it, as if reluctant to float too far. The Eptanissa, literally seven islands as they’re known in Greek as they include Kythera (which sits in splendid isolation from the rest off in the sea between the Peloponnese’s central tip and Crete), have layered Greece’s history differently than the islands of the Aegean. Though at times they were under the dominion of the same rulers, the Ionians integrated those historical experiences almost seamlessly into local culture. Yet, these islands only seem like a group geographically: their architecture, their topography, their customs, and people are quite varied. Ithaki, identified with the Ithaca of Odysseus, with its scattered settlements and narrow bays that are like deep incisions into the land. Lefkada, with its blinding white sand and low cliffs–beauty created by a violent act of nature, an earthquake. Zakynthos with its warm waters and welcoming beaches whose embrace is big enough to shelter both endangered turtles and hordes of club-loving tourists. Kefalonia, now identified as Captain Corelli’s island after Louis de Bernieres’s novel, a sprawling, fertile paradise known for its robola wines. The Paxi archipelagos, less touristed but a haven for sailboats. And Kerkyra, or Corfu, the largest and most regal.
Golden gorse is flowering in the hinterland, bright red poppies fringe the byways. Slender cypresses reach skywards, cactus figs peep cheekily from between spiky green twigs, oranges and lemons glow in lush gardens. “Do you know the land where the lemon trees flower and golden oranges glow against dark leaves, where a gentle breeze blows from a deep blue sky, where myrtle stands tall and quiet, beside the laurel, do you know that place?” Yes, I do, very well indeed.
Of course, Goethe was writing of Italy, perhaps the most beautiful country in the world, but the poet has also described Corfu, the green island between the Mediterranean and the Adriatic. The island is best surveyed from an altitude of almost 3,280 feet on the highest hill with the awe-inspiring name of “Pantokrator” (creator of all). The scene that unfolds below was lauded by Homer who was kissed by the Muse on this very spot. In his Odyssey Homer goes into raptures: “Corfu: where trees hang their greenery on high, the pear, the pomegranate, the apple with its glossy burden, the sweet fig and the luxuriant olive.”
Corfu’s temperate weather recommends it year-round, although the Ionian is known for rain in the fall. But the island truly comes to life in spring, when its color seem to vibrate with the energy of the annual “rebirth”. The island has a peculiar shape that recalls a funnel: its round, broad north tapers to a single point in the south. Its lush, especially in the north, and the pines that seem to grow out of the sea tint its color a deep teal. Coves, some shallow and others deep, create a lace-like effect around its fringes and a number of beaches that make the island a joy to explore in summer. But spring is perfect to explore the island’s interior, discover small villages with ice-cream color houses framed by pretty gardens and rolling fields framed by olive trees and small orchards. The island is a revelation for foodies as its local cuisine borrows elements from Italian and French cooking and fuses them with Greek traditions to create the unique local gastronomy that has produced such dishes and bourdeto (fish chowder) and pastitsada (beef stewed in tomato sauce).
Corfu exudes a languid romance. Corfu Town, especially, inspires a courtliness as you stroll its kantounia, a labyrinth of narrow passages formed between narrow, five- or six-story Venetian residences whose ground floors have been hollowed out to house souvenir shops selling bags, beads, and assorted foods, aromatic soaps, candles, and tulle pouches of dried herbs. Shake off the claustrophobia with a walk along the promenade that traces Garitsa bay or across the Spianada, an open-air park with a small bandstand for the philharmonic’s performances and a makeshift cricket pitch that’s often occupied by local teams. The arched Liston, which rightfully recalls the Rue de Rivoli in Paris, beckons on a break–a good place to sit, sip coffee, and idly watch the flow of people on the town’s periphery.
Corfiots remain true to their tradition and celebrate feast days with surprising vigor. Music, of course, which the Corfiots have in their blood, is a part of any celebration; here the tradition differs from the rest of Greece, as “music” is not the demotika of the klarino and tambourine but classical pieces performed by one or more of the island’s philharmonic bands. And this all comes together in the Corfiot celebration of Easter.
Preparations for Easter begin far in advance, when homes are freshened with a new layer of whitewash or paint and rugs are taken up, beaten, and stored for winter. These preparations culminate with Holy Week, an extraordinary experience that visitors are invited to share with locals.
The week’s celebrations begin on Palm Sunday, and services include a procession through the old quarter accompanied by the island’s marching bands. Throughout the week, in church, the priest reads each of the twelve gospels. At home, preparations continue for the Easter feast. One of the most important tasks in kneading the special Easter bread, or tsoureki, made from slightly sweetened dough twisted into a braid. On Good Thursday, eggs are dyed blood red, buffed to a high sheen with a light coat of olive oil, then placed on the table. But they’re not to be eaten before the resurrection service.
On Good Friday, the mood is subdued. Early in the morning, local women go the church to decorate the Epitaphios, a symbolic bier for Christ, with flowers. It is placed in the middle of the church until nightfall, when it is led around the parish in procession.
On Saturday morning, after church, Corfiots flock to the old quarter to witness a unique custom. Banners are hung from the windows, and then when the church bells toll, large clay jars filled with water are tossed off from the windows and rooftops of the high buildings. The sound of the botides, as the jars are called, smashing against the cobblestone is like cannon fire– and this noise is amplified by music.
No one is quite sure of this custom’s origins. Some claim it is rooted in a Biblical quote (“Lord, cleanse me so I can shatter sinners like clay jars”), others say it originated in the Middle Ages as a way of exorcising the previous year’s evil, while another account says the noise symbolizes Judas’s anguished cries after betraying Jesus. No matter how it started, the custom is spectacular.

Nothing beats an island-hopping holiday and the larger islands of the Cyclades lend themselves to this ideally as they’re close together and have good boat connections. Even in as little as a week, it’s easy to hit two or three islands–and well worth it as each has its own color and pace.
Ruins of medieval castles and other vestiges of Venetian rule adorn the Greek landscape, but no where is its lingering influence more evident than in the Cyclades. In the groups northern islands–Andros, Tinos, and Syros–dovecotes, rococo flourishes on church bell towers, marble door mantles engraved with symbols or letters representing the family’s name or occupation, remain in evidence. Villages founded in the thirteenth or fourteenth centuries and built within fortified enclosures have survived intact, not as tourist attractions but as vibrant, vital human settlements.
Viewed from the air, Andros, Tinos, and Mykonos extend across the northern edge of the Cyclades like a breakwater. Mykonos is bald and barren; Andros and Tinos have lush vegetation and a strong agricultural tradition. Like most of the islands in the Cyclades group, Mykonos looked to the sea and fishing for its livelihood; the economies of Andros and Tinos were rooted in the land as even Andros’s maritime power was developed to create to export silk and farm products like corn. Syros, less than half an hour by sea from Tinos, is also somewhat of a Cycladic oddity. Less fertile than Andros or Tinos, it developed a strong maritime tradition that evolved from the island’s strategic position in the Aegean.
In the third millennium B.C., Syros was one of the centers of the Cycladic culture, one three separate Bronze Age civilizations in the Aegean. Archaeological finds from the island suggest an advance maritime society, in organized settlements, that developed a sophisticated commercial network around the minerals trade. Yet there is only scant mention of the northern Cyclades in mythology. Syros is sometimes identified with an obscure king, Cyranus, who was shipwrecked off Naxos and brought to the island by a dolphin. On Tinos, the cult of Poseidon was quite strong, while Dionysus was worshipped on Andros. By some accounts, Eolus, keeper of the winds, lived on the summit of Tinos’s Mount Tsiknias. Both Tinos and Syros get passing mention in Homer’s Odyssey.
All three islands have left their mark on Greek culture. Syros is the birthplace of Pherekydes, an ancient philosopher who is believed to have been one of Pythagoras’s teachers. One of Greece’s most important modern writers, Andreas Embiricos, was born on Andros. Tinos is the birthplace of several prominent modern artists, from the sculptor Yannoulis Halepas to the master painters Nicolaos Gizis and Nikiforos Lytras.
Paros and Naxos are at the heart of the Cyclades, and so closely associated that Greeks often lump them together as Paronaxia, much as the British refer to their top academic institutions as “Oxbridge.” The channel separating the two is narrow enough to be crossed by experienced windsurfers, while the villages along coast are visible from the other on both clear and cloudy days. Looking down on Naxos’s western plain from Ayios Arsenios or Glinado at night, it is easy to confuse the lights at Ayia Anna with those twinkling across the sea from Paros’s western villages of Marpissa and Drios.
The two islands’ geography is roughly similar. Both feature a central peak or ridge around which ample, coastal plains gradually extend towards the sea. But the mountains of Naxos are higher and their ridges more jagged than the rounded peaks of Paros. Naxos also has an almost even coastline, where Paros has substantial inlets that form two excellent natural harbors on the north and west.
Unlike other islands in the Cyclades group, both Paros and Naxos are quite fertile, with thriving agricultural production. Income from farming has been a counterbalance to tourism, and has helped keep development in check. Paros is well known for its vineyards and Naxos for its citrus crops. Both have a strong dairy tradition and produce excellent local cheeses. Stockbreeding is also practiced on Naxos. The islands also have rich supplies of ores, especially marble and emery. Local architecture also deviates slightly from the boxed, white-washed look associated with the Cyclades. On Paros, houses are more rectangular in shape and feature arched rather than flat roofs. Naxos displays a strong Venetian influence, especially in its inland, mountain villages with their high-walled houses.
Archaeological evidence suggests that Paros has been inhabited since prehistoric times and was an important center of the Cycladic culture. Naxos was also well-known in antiquity, especially for its wines and as a center of the cult of Dionysus. Like Paros, it, too, shared in the development of Cycladic culture as local sculptors were highly influential in giving shape to the Archaic form. The islands’ position at the heart of the Cyclades made both targets of conquerors. Naxos, whose straight coast has few inlets, was spared many of the attacks launched against Paros by pirates, many of whom used the island and the sheltered Antiparos straits as a base. In Naoussa, pirates and Venetians struck an uncomfortable cohabitation that lasted until the arrival of the Russians in the late 1800s. Following the Greek War of Independence, the two islands became a part of the nascent Greek state in 1830.
Naxos is closely identified with Ariadne, the daughter of King Minos who fell in love with Theseus. The myth is the subject of an opera by Richard Strauss, Ariadne auf Naxos. Paros has a tenuous connection with Marpessa, whom Apollo had wooed, although her tale is less well known. The daughter of Evenus, a son of the war god Ares, she was wooed by both Apollo and Idas, a rather vain warrior secretly fathered by Poseidon. Idas kidnapped Marpessa and carried her away in a winged chariot loaned to him by Poseidon. Apollo, who challenged Idas for the hand of Marpessa, pursued the pair. Zeus intervened, and asked the girl to chose. Afraid that Apollo might abandon her, she chose Idas.
The sea around Paros and Naxos is dotted with islets, although not all of these are inhabited. The largest, Antiparos, is separated from the western coast of Paros by a 500-meter strait that is littered with smaller islets and rocky outcrops. Four large islets off the eastern coast of Naxos–Donoussa, Koufonissia, Schinoussa, and Iraklia–form stepping stones to Amorgos, the easternmost island in the Cyclades group. All are sparsely populated, and make for interesting boat excursions from Naxos.
Two islands that are known around the world are Mykonos and Santorini–equally for their picture-postcard beauty and their nightlife, although the single might tend more towards Mykonos and honeymooners towards Santorini. Ios is also high on the clubbers’ agenda, though it’s club appeal seems to target a younger, less sophisticated crowd.
Sandy beaches, clear blue waters, white-washed buildings, windmills, and vibrant nightlife have made Mykonos the poster-island for Aegean tourism. The island’s bars and dance clubs are as popular–and as packed–as those of Spain’s Ibiza and Cyprus’s Ayia Napa. Yet Mykonos is not all gloss and glitter. Away from the trendy beaches Mykonos Town, or Hora as the main villages are known on most islands, the island still retains many of the simple charms that drew the first waves of tourists in the 1950s and 1960s. Secluded spots, especially in the north and northeast, are not difficult to find, although no one honestly comes to Mykonos to get away from it all. Even more remarkably, this tight-knit community has managed to preserve customs and traditions that have been lost from other islands that attract far fewer tourists.
Unlike Tinos and Andros, Mykonos is ringed by islets. Most are off its southwestern coast. The two main satellites, Delos and Rhenea, sometimes referred to as Lesser and Greater Delos, respectively, were as celebrated in antiquity as Mykonos is today. Delos was one of the most important religious centers of ancient Greece and seat of an Athenian-led confederacy known as the Delian League. Rhenea became the necropolis of Delos and served as the burial ground for warriors who died there. In the sixth century B.C., Polycrates, the tyrant who drove Pythagoras from Samos, captured Rhenea. He then consecrated the island to Apollo, and joined it to Delos with a chain. The islet was very sparsely populated, with records indicating the existence of a handful of farmhouses and towers.
Santorini is hailed as the most beautiful island of the Aegean and one of the most gorgeous spots on the planet. The caldera was created by a volcanic eruption that archaeologists believe occurred around 1500 B.C.; until the late 1960s, little was known about Santorini before the eruption, beyond the fact that it had been inhabited since 2000 B.C. and had been called Strongilli, or “round”–presumably a reflection of its circular, possibly conical, shape. Far more detailed information about this civilization, which apparently had links to Minoan Crete, came to light after the noted Greek archaeologist Spiros Marinatos discovered the city of Akrotiri, which had been preserved almost intact under layers of volcanic ash. Santorini’s peculiar geology is a source of never-ending supposition and fantasy among amateur geologists, archaeology buffs, and fans of mythology-inspired fiction who view the Aegean archipelago and all the islands of the Mediterranean as surviving fragments of a sunken land mass that was part of a single European-African continent millions of years ago.
Santorini’s distinctive architecture also evolved as a result of the volcano. With no timber on the island but plenty of stone, its inhabitants dug homes into the cliffs and used mortar made from volcanic soil to fashion interior walls and facades. Because it was difficult to dig too deep into the rock, even small homes were often built in staggered, split levels. Known as skafta or hyposkafta, these cave-like huts featured vaulted domes in the shape of the cavern ceiling, a form preserved in above-ground buildings and churches.
Seasoned visitors to Greece often prefer to visit in the autumn, when the weather is warm enough to swim but cool enough not to need air conditioning, even in the afternoon heat. It’s also quieter, as the high season has passed. It’s also an ideal time to combine a longer visit to Athens with a stay on any one–or indeed, all–of the Saronic islands which are just an hour away. Hydra, Poros, and Spetses have between them enough variety for three completely different experiences–from architecture to food–while Poros offers the added benefit of the perfect staging ground for exploring sights in the Peloponnese, like Nafplio, Epidaurus, and Mycenae.
Hydra, Poros, and Spetses are often dubbed the aristocracy of the Greek islands. All three islands are enveloped in a sophistication that stems partly from their history and partly from their popularity among affluent Athenians. While none of these islands were particularly well-known in antiquity (although new research may soon change this), all three played important roles in the Greek war of independence and the creation of the modern Greek state. Hydra and Spetses supplied the naval muscle of the Greeks during the war of independence from the Ottoman Turks; Poros hosted the new state’s naval arsenal under the command of Admiral Andreas Miaoulis.
Hydra, Poros, and Spetses are unique among the Greek islands. Despite attracting large numbers of tourists–Greek and foreign–they are largely unspoiled, having managed to preserve their traditional architecture. Hydra’s stately mansions, the regal neoclassicism of the Posidonio Hotel and Anaryirios School on Spetses, and Poros’ rustic brick-roof homes create the slightly unreal feel of a movie set. Hydra’s ban on all vehicles and restrictions on the use of cars on Spetses reinforce the Old World ambience of these islands that has inspired scores of poets, writers, and musicians.
Cannon guards frame the entry to the ports of Hydra and Spetses, a first line of defense mounted by islanders against pirates and other invaders when they settled the areas around the harbors.
As with other islands, the sea has played a central role in the development of Hydra, Poros, and Spetses. But their strategic location gave them control of sea lanes to the Saronic Gulf as well as the Argolic Gulf, a position from which the name “Argosaronic islands” derives. This placed Poros and Hydra in a direct line from Piraeus and the Attic coast, while the proximity of all three to the northeastern coast of the Peloponnese made them vulnerable to attacks by marauders from mainland as well as pirates seeking a base from which to approach the Peloponnese. As a result, the populations of these three islands did not stabilize until approximately the seventeenth century.
Nonetheless, by the start of the nineteenth century, Hydra and Spetses had emerged as formidable maritime powers. Their sizeable fleets–roughly 300 ships–were put in the service of the Greek revolution. Hydriot and Spetsiot shipowners like Yiorgos Koundouriotis, Andreas Miaoulis, and Lascarina Bouboulina, to name a few, used the fortunes they had amassed from trade to help finance the Greeks’ war. After the war, these islands also provided much of the leadership for the new Greek state.